


Prettier than a flower

by NocturnalMe



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bad Flirting, Better times, Canon? What Canon?, Dandelion is blond y'all, Everyone is bisexual and happy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, for plot reasons, we stan one ( 1 ) horny witcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 05:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20110195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnalMe/pseuds/NocturnalMe
Summary: The witcher Geralt of Rivia was looking for a hunt job together with his friend, the poet Dandelion, when tiredeness took the best of them and forced the two to rest their limbs at last. Luckily, they found the best place to have a little break from their journey.





	Prettier than a flower

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!!! çç It's been a while since I posted something here, ugh I know, but I wasn't in the right mood... It took me some time to finish this one shot, too, but now I'm here.  
As I said in the tags, this fic refers to the books, so our beloved bard is blond eheheh and Geralt is uglier than the games, as it should be ;)) (I'm kidding, I love both versions of him). Slso, this fic takes place somewhere BEFORE The Last Wish, easier times huh.  
Idk if I've been true to the characters, but I needed some sluffy(??) with these two dorks in love. I L O V E Geralt, you can't understand how much I love that beautiful bastard, but this paring is...kinda new to me?? Because when I read the first books was much younger (that's why maybe some things aren't as correct as I'd like them to be, I'm sorry) and didn't see all the GOOD material we've been given. Now I'm in deep shit JSADJSJDK
> 
> It's my first attempt at writing something smuttier than usual, I hope you can enjoy what my mind was able to put together, and let me know in the comments what do you think pls!!!
> 
> As always, my thanks go to [@HelAuditore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HelAuditore) for her help and support ❤❤❤

_"The journey weighed upon them, but even heroes deserved a rest from time to time. And what better place our valiant friends could find to lay their tired bones than a peaceful, fey sea of the greenest grass?"_

Dandelion stared at the sheet he was currently writing on with a pensive look as if he was trying to find the right words to compose his next masterpiece. 

It had been three, four days since they left the city and now they were in the middle of a forest, not too far from the main road. 

It had been a decision taken in the haze of drunkenness where Dandelion forced - _pleaded_ is the correct word in this case - his friend to bring the poet with him because Geralt's adventures always sounded so exciting and he was sure he could have written something of it, but he needed to live them on his skin first. 

Artists.

"Why are you already awake, poet?" a low grumble came from the other side of the scratchy bedroll where the witcher laid on his belly, his eyes were closed and a scowl scrunched up his dreadful features. 

"Creativity never sleeps, my friend!" Dandelion piped up with a joyful tone as he lifted his quill in the air to emphasize his words. "And I was inspired by the nature that surrounds us." he continued while he dipped the tip of the quill into the black ink. 

Geralt opened one glowing, yellow eye to glare at him menacingly. "Well, be creative in silence, thanks." he then grunted before turning on one side, giving his back to the bard.

Dandelion just rolled his eyes at the sky that was placidly lightning from the colors of the dawn and now was of a pale, pinkish orange that faded into a faint indigo.

Geralt and he had been friends for a few years now, but the bard never dreamed of being on the dangerous road with him, among monsters and all the conceivable threats. And he was thrilled, really thrilled. Well, scared and thrilled. More scared than thrilled. He was more of a city kind of man after all, but he was sure that Geralt would have slayed every evil creature they would have encountered on their way, so he felt safe next to him. 

He always felt safe next to him, actually. 

Dandelion heaved a sigh as he glanced at the solid figure of the witcher at his left. 

He smiled, a small, fond smile, looking at his friend sleeping. And snoring. Then he stretched a bit before returning to his own writing. 

Being so absorbed in his work, he didn't seem to notice that Geralt got up at some point and left the place. 

He became aware of his absence only when he heard a creak from behind the bushes. His head immediately perked up and he blinked in confusion. 

"Geralt?" called after his friend who was nowhere to be found, and fear started creeping up within his heart, making his guts twist. 

Another creak and the bard jumped on his feet, squeaking like a drowning rat. 

He stretched his arm towards the direction of the noise and, gripping tightly at his quill, yelled "Show yourself, filthy monster! I'm not afraid of you!" at the top of his lungs.

He would have looked even brave if only his voice hadn't been shaking that hard as well as his legs. 

He gulped, then swallowed down his bile, waiting. 

Rustling of leaves, footsteps approaching. 

His heart was beating fast in his chest. 

"Dande-" 

The witcher came to a stop before a bard ass on the ground and legs up in the air, his hat fallen some feet away in the green grass. 

He was panting and staring at his friend with a look on his face between terror and disbelief. 

Geralt cleared his throat loudly to hide a giggle and crossed his arms as he arched one brow. 

A long silence lingered between the two until one of them finally broke it. 

"W-what?" Dandelion asked like nothing happened as he stood up, even if with quite a few problems due to the hit. 

"I'm regretting my decision to have you as my companion." the witcher shook his head hopelessly before crouching down to rummage in his sack, looking for something. 

Dandelion picked his hat from the grass and waved it clean from the dirt. "I don't like what you're implying-" he was about to say but he was cut off by Geralt who threw a piece of soap bar at his chest. 

Even though taken by surprise, Dandelion managed somehow to catch it with both hands, then he looked at his friend owlishly. 

"Follow me, come on." Geralt scoffed in an annoyed tone, but a smirk ghosted his lips, threatening to split his face in half.

Dandelion stayed there a bit longer as he followed the witcher's figure disappearing into the vegetation.

As soon as he understood what Geralt wanted to do, he started to run behind him, not even caring about the ink staining his sheets, completely forgotten on the blanket.

"Where are we headed, Geralt?" the bard asked curiously as he paid attention to where he put his feet. He didn't want to fall face on the ground and ruin his perfect profile, his admirers would never forgive him such recklessness. 

"You will see." Geralt simply replied, his tone unmoved. 

Dandelion glanced at him sceptically. "I'm not one of your witches, you know. You don't have to impress me or-" he didn't finish his thought because his breath was caught in his throat at the sight before his eyes as they stepped out of the forest. 

There was a marvelous waterfall, Dandelion should have recognized the pouring sound as they were walking earlier. The water of the pool beneath it was crystal clear and the sun played illusions on its surface, lighting the leaves of the blooming bushes around the pool where a river flowed into. Birds chirped happily on the branches of the tall ash trees, on which a couple of squirrels ran up and down hurriedly. 

That place looked like one of those the poet had read about on books during his childhood. 

He was so struck by the view that he almost didn't catch what the witcher was saying to him. 

"Thank you for the monster, by the way." Geralt uttered out as he unlaced his white undershirt before taking it off. 

"What?" the bard asked falling from the clouds, before turning to look at his friend. And immediately regretted it. 

Maybe. 

Being a man of world - of brothels and taverns, more exactly - Dandelion had laid his eyes on many, many women, men and what was in between of many species, so he didn't know why seeing his witcher friend bare chested, basking under the warm light of the morning sun that made his scarred skin look even paler, his chapped lips curled in a faint smile, those feline hues so bright and fluid that looked like the core of a flame, he didn't know why that view made his heart skip a beat and quiver within his ribcage, a sound that echoed in his ears and every other noise from the forest around them sounded so far away now. 

"You're very eloquent today." Geralt chuckled under his breath while putting his shirt on a rock nearby. "I said, thank you for calling me a monster earlier.". 

It took the poet some long seconds to force his tongue to work again. 

"Y-you know I wasn't referring to you specifically." he muttered weakly as he watched his friend's lips curving up more into an amused grin. 

"I was joking, you pouting bastard." Geralt's gruff laugh was followed by a pat on the poet's back, who didn't exactly know how to react, mostly because he was trying to not stare so openly at the witcher's pectorals and abdomen. 

He was made of flesh, after all, and Geralt was a fascinating man in his own particular way. And that observation only made Dandelion's guts twist tighter. 

Since when had he started thinking about his friend on those terms?

He definitely didn't want to dwell on that thought at the moment. 

He shook his head to get a grip and say something witty in return, but he hadn't the time nor enough breath in his lungs, because his friend suddenly decided that moment was perfect to unlace his pants too and strip out of them so nonchalantly that Dandelion wondered if he did it on purpose. 

Before he could stop himself, a loud gasp escaped from his parted mouth as his gaze ranked down Geralt's figure like it was magnetically drawn to him, lower and lower. 

Oh, so much lower. 

Dandelion felt warm all over, his stubbled cheeks aflame like a blushing bride's, his eyes wide in complete shock… and awe. 

He could understand why witches from all the reigns claimed a piece of him. 

A _very_ remarkable piece. 

His mouth had gone dry in a moment, and he knew he should have looked at anything but his best friend's glorious dick, he knew it was the right thing to do. Yet, he couldn't force himself to listen to that rational part of his brain, especially since most of his blood had quickly rushed somewhere else. 

Apparently, Geralt had no problem to expose himself that much. 

The bard wished to have his sheets and his quill right now because what he had in front of his bewildered self deserved to be praised by words. 

Actually, words would have been too restrictive. As much as the clothes that hid his lower half. And he mentally cursed because his situation was getting awkward. And Geralt would have noticed it sooner or later. 

He wanted to move, but panic clenched his frenzied heart, heat creeping up his neck and down his collar. He was like rooted there, in front of that man with long, white hair and a body forged by many fights, so different from the ones Dandelion usually favoured, but attractive nonetheless. 

If the poet had lifted his gaze, he would have seen a wolfish smirk across the witcher's lips.

When he finally turned away and headed towards the pool, the bard thought he was saved, that he could breathe again and act as Geralt hadn't just undressed himself in his presence without a single blink, but he was just fooling himself. 

As Geralt walked, his muscles tensed and relaxed at each step. On his back, on his thighs, on his firm buttcheecks. Thick, solid muscles. 

Dandelion found himself staring at the very naked ass of Geralt for an amount of time that might be considered something beyond pure friendship. 

His salivation suddenly increased at that display and he could feel drool pooling at the corners of his mouth as though he was being offered the tastiest plate of food that he wasn't allowed to eat. 

Okay, _now_ he was really regretting it. Because the more time passed, the more his lower parts woke in interest. 

He didn't notice he was gripping at the soap bar so hard it started crumbling apart through his fingers. 

Better not think about hard things in his already precarious state. 

Which would have got worse within a few moments, he was sure about that. 

Taking advantage of Geralt still walking slowly as if he wanted to show himself, as if he wanted to be seen, a behavior that didn't belong to the witcher, Dandelion knew that much by now, he took his clothes off as quickly as humanly possible, tripping on himself once or twice, then ran towards the pool just to dive in it with a loud, ungracious splash of water. 

He almost drowned, too, but nobody would have known that. Ever. 

When he resurfaced, coughing like he had just swallowed a toad, he noticed that Geralt was standing not so far from him, his teeth bared in a smug grin that made the wrinkles near his eyes crinkle even more. 

The bard must have hit his head on a rock earlier because that image sent uncomfortable, warm shivers down his lower stomach. 

He gulped as he tried to hide his actual discomfort looking at the water in front of him and running a hand through his gold curls. 

"I-I think I lost my soap." he blurted out when the silence between them became too much to handle for him. 

There was another brief pause before the witcher offered "Come here, poet. I'll help you.", his voice gone a little softer than his usual rough tone. 

Dandelion blinked in his direction, utterly surprised by those words, but he acted like he was told. 

As soon as he was next to Geralt, his body betrayed him once more.

He could feel his face burn both from embarrassment and another feeling that he didn't want to acknowledge, that same scalding feeling that flowed in his veins and made thinking not a possible option. 

That was the closest he had ever been to Geralt so far. They had been close before, sure, but never as naked as they were right now. And the poet knew that nudity wasn't a big deal for a warrior who lived with other men, shame wasn't a part of a witcher's life. And neither of Dandelion's, since he much liked to be naked when in good company. Mind you, his company at the moment was even greater, gods knew how much he was fond of his best friend, but that moment was so… intimate. It wasn't just an act between friends. Or at least from his point of view. 

He didn't know what was getting into him all of the sudden. Or in Geralt, for all that mattered, the witcher's behavior caught him off guard more and more. 

From that distance, the poet was able to see that his friend's pupils were slightly dilated and the tips of his ears were flushed of a light shade of pink. 

That was endearing but also odd because the only times he had seen Geralt blushing were when he was drunk, and they weren't drunk at the moment. 

His tongue was momentarily out of function and he stood there feeling like a complete idiot, before the witcher finally saved him from his misery and said "Turn, I can't wash your back this way.".

Dandelion immediately shook himself from the trance he had fallen into and spun around in a rush, heart in his throat and a wave of arousal coiling in his guts, making him feel sort of dizzy. 

"Good boy." Geralt hushed in a husky breath into his ear and the poet's back stiffened at once as his mouth slacked open, but he couldn't formulate any logical thought because two hands started tracing the curves of his back and lightings jolting up and down his spine. 

He bit his lower lip so hard it was a miracle it didn't bleed. 

Those hands may have gripped swords on a daily basis, yet they were careful on his increasingly overheated skin, like the witcher was caressing a lover, and as soon as that sensation registered in his mind, a soft whimper fell from his lips that got a brief, throaty chuckle from the other man. 

Callous fingertips studied him for a while, tracing imaginary lines, scraping his soft flesh a bit with short nails, before leaving place to the cold soap bar.

His mind couldn't fully wrap around what was happening and Dandelion wondered if he was dreaming. Because this was too good to be true. But also awkward. And maybe that was what made him think that it was actually happening after all. 

That and the hardness of Geralt's dick pressed against his thigh that he couldn't feel that vividly even in his wildest - and wettest - fantasies. 

He had to hang onto a rock or he might have fallen on his knees otherwise. 

Not that it was such a horrible position in that situation. Especially if he turned around to face Geralt. Well, a huge part of Geralt. 

He mentally scolded himself for having that kind of thought, then closed his eyes to relax and enjoy the moment. He knew he wouldn't have another opportunity like that in the future, so he wanted to taste it as much as he could. 

Those big, strong hands worked on his back for a while, one rubbing his skin with the soap bar and the other kneading his muscles slowly, gripping and then releasing. 

The poet was literally melting under his ministrations because Geralt was hitting all the right places and it took all his willpower to not moan out loud. 

Still standing behind him, the witcher handed him the soap at some point as he leant forward to speak in a whisper, hot breath grazing the poet's cheek. 

"Now it's your turn." he said and Dandelion could hear the smirk in his voice. 

His turn? _Oh_. Right. 

The bard cleared his throat as he took the soap bar, then turned around the exact moment Geralt did too and suddenly two broad shoulders were staring at him expectantly. 

His eyes ranked up and down to examine his back like it was a work of art and the proximity let him see all the different scars that studded his flesh like weird constellations. 

He reached out for one particular patch of skin on the right shoulder blade, brushing the tips of his fingers against it, and he felt the witcher go tense under his touch, just for a split second, and the poet bit his own cheek. 

Gods above, how could he resist the temptation of placing a kiss on that very spot? It would have taken him nothing, he just had to lean a little closer and-

No, he couldn't. 

As anguish contorted awfully his guts, he breathed in and out one time before starting to clean his friend's back, mimicking the movements Geralt just practiced on him with his hands. A rub with the soap, a grip and then realising. It felt good on himself so he thought Geralt would have appreciated, too. 

And if the deep breaths that were shaking the witcher's body meant something, Dandelion was doing a great work, even though his hands weren't as firm as Geralt's.

Dandelion wasn't paying too much attention to where his hands went, too busy looking at the witcher's hair and thinking about a word that rhymed with 'silver' to add to his current work, yet when he heard a sharp intake coming from his friend, he furrowed his brows as he stilled in his actions, thinking he must have touched a spot he shouldn't have to, maybe it being a fresh wound, and immediately felt guilty. 

He looked down at his right hand and didn't see either a wound nor a bruise.

Curiosity won over and he kneaded the strip just above his hip. That pulled a growl out of the witcher that made the poet quiver like a leaf in the breeze. 

That was really interesting, he wouldn't have imagined that Geralt could be that sensitive. 

But as much as intriguing that discovery was, he needed to stop playing with fire or he could get burned. 

Once Dandelion was done with his back, Geralt was facing him again and quickly caught the soap from his hand just to rub it between his own before burying them into the bard's hair. 

The witcher started soaping his precious curls, rubbing his scalp with circular movements. 

The bard couldn't believe his own eyes, but the shock didn't last long and he was like clay under his fingers. 

There was a grin curling up the man's lips in a mischievous way as his gaze wandered across Dandelion's face that started heating up once again under that scrutiny. 

Geralt looked like what they were doing was a common thing between them, like they had done it since forever, and the poet felt lightheaded all of the sudden. 

He didn't know he had been craving for that kind of intimacy with someone until now. 

"You know, you're prettier than a flower." the witcher grunted in a coarse tone as if it took him some effort, or enough courage, to say those words, while he carefully untangled the knots in the poet's hair with his fingers. 

"W-what?" Dandelion's head perked up immediately upon hearing that statement, shooting the other man a startled look. 

Geralt roared with a booming laughter, but never stopped washing his friend's curls. And if his cheeks showed his internal embarrassment, Dandelion didn’t notice it.

That sound vibrated in the bard's chest, settling in its middle where his heart was beating fast from the absurd amount of feelings it was holding.

If Dandelion hadn't known better, it would almost have sounded like his friend was _flirting_ with him just right now. And he didn't know what to do with that information. 

And it was impossible, wasn't it. 

But Geralt was staring at him with a sly glint in those feline eyes that made him second-guess his beliefs about his friend. 

As far as Dandelion had learnt from books and popular tales, witchers supposed to be emotionless beings, scary killing machines taught and shaped to scatter monsters blood, still when he looked at Geralt he couldn't tell the difference. Maybe for a foreign eye, his witcher was another awful, selfish, greedy mutant who just lived for himself, who just lived to survive another day, but he knew for sure his friend cared about things, cared about people, deep inside of him. He was not heartless. Could a heartless man laugh the way he just did? 

He was discovering another part of Geralt, more playful and relaxed, and thought he liked it. It was a part of him that he never showed to others, and Dandelion felt important being worthy of it. 

He hoped that the witcher would never lose that tiny, frisky spark in his eyes because they were so beautiful, lively that way. 

"Don't make fun of me, witcher." the bard tried to sound annoyed, but he was smiling himself, looking at his friend with a longing gaze. He would have given everything to hear that laughter one more time. 

"That wasn’t my intention. I was being serious." Geralt admitted without any doubt in his voice as his fingers left the man's gold mane to brush gently his cheekbone where a scarlet blush began to bloom across as soon as those words left the witcher's lips. 

Dandelion gaped at him for a few seconds before clamping his mouth shut and gulping loudly. 

He couldn't help it. He couldn't help his heart from feeling that silly, human emotion he didn't think he would have ever experienced in his life. 

He knew it was too late now, that he just had been delaying what it was inevitable. 

As his heart fluttered fervently in his stomach, Dandelion lathered his hands up before raising a bit on tiptoe to reach for his friend's milky hair. 

Doing so, the poet found himself between Geralt's arms, surrounded by his musky scent that, combined with fresh soap, started filling up his lungs at every breath. 

Blazing yellow met cornflower blue as fingers gingerly worked through hair. 

Dandelion showed a wary smile, feeling his face flush when he noticed that the witcher had broke the eye contact to stare very intently at… his mouth. 

His throat went dry within a heartbeat upon that realization and panic began to clutch at his guts. 

"Julian." Geralt called him in a whisper before wetting his own lips while a hand snaked down from the poet's curls to the crook of his neck to cup his jaw. 

Dandelion's body froze all at once and his eyes opened wide.

He was clearly hallucinating now. He must have eaten some fungus or sniffed some poisonous plants. 

That reaction made the witcher to back up a little. "Tell me to stop if you don't want to." he asked the bard, ready to retreat, even though his hand didn't leave its place on Dandelion's face. 

A pause lingered between them. 

"I do." the poet replied before he could refrain himself, looking up to Geralt's intense hues as his hands trailed from his hair until they loosely wrapped around his neck. 

The witcher tilted Dandelion's head up just a bit, wearing an easy smile. 

Then, their mouths clashed together. 

Dandelion fancied himself to be a good kisser, people who slept with him never lamented his skills, but now he was struggling to keep pace with Geralt, he didn't expect the witcher to be so eager. 

When their lips touched, everything clicked in the right place and all made sense somehow. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the puns. 

Even if the kiss started tentative, chaste even, it didn't take long before Geralt was kissing him as if he wanted to devour him, like he had waited for that moment for ages, and those thoughts shook his very core so suddenly that he gasped in the kiss, opening his lips more. 

The witcher took it as an opportunity to sneak his tongue into his mouth that immediately found the twin, deepening the contact, making it more passionate. 

Geralt's mouth was so warm, like a furnace, and Dandelion wondered how blissful it would have been on other parts of his body. Especially a part that he really wanted to grind against the witcher's thigh in that very moment. 

They kept kissing, whines and moans from the bard filled the air. He couldn't believe himself to be that vocal, but Geralt was nipping at his lips, savoring his skin, mapping every bit of his mouth with his skilled tongue, so the bard really didn't stand a chance.

From the way the kiss grew erratic, the witcher wasn't complaining about his enthusiastic noises. 

Dandelion was trembling by the intensity of that heated exchange and gripped harder at Geralt's flesh, digging his fingertips into his muscles as he leant against his chest, wanting to be as close as possible to him, even though it felt like it wasn't enough. It was never enough. 

Suddenly, Geralt manhandled him until his back hit a flat surface, their mouths still dancing against each others. 

Dandelion realized that they passed through into the waterfall just because he tasted water on the witcher's lips at some point. But he didn't care, he didn't care at all about the surroundings right now, not when he had Geralt pressing him on the cold rock with his entire body. 

He closed his eyes, too overwhelmed by all the different sensations he was feeling, and went back to gripping at the witcher's shoulders as Geralt shoved himself deeper into the sweet haven that Dandelion's mouth was. 

Fingers fidgeting from craving, the witcher started stroking the other man's skin greedily, touching everywhere and nowhere at the same time, as if he couldn't decide where his hands should have laid first. 

Those caresses, together with the fervent brushes of their lips and tongues, left the bard a whimpering mess, noises that Geralt was too keen to swallow, fuel to his lust that was flaming vividly in his lower belly. 

As amazing as the kiss could have been, Dandelion started to feel a little too lightheaded due to the lack of breathing and had to tear himself away from the witcher's skin as he fluttered his eyes open. 

The sight he was gifted was mesmerizing. His friend looked as debauched as he felt himself. Some strands of his silvery white hair stuck to his face, his lips were swollen and even shone in the little light of that place. His cheeks wore a scarlet shade and his eyes were the brightest thing Dandelion had witnessed in his life. Those gold hues that now were staring at him hungrily and made his heart flip over in his chest. 

The poet reached out for Geralt's face with a hand to brush some stray locks behind his ear, his throat working on the lump that didn't let him speak. He felt intoxicated from the kisses they just shared, a dazzling poison that he couldn't get rid of, that he didn't _want_ to get rid of, not after having experienced its effect. It would have haunted his nights more than it had been before, he could now drop the mask and stop pretending, lewd invasions in his sleeping that always left him pining for what he couldn't get for his and only own, but who was he to resist such a pleasure? 

He closed the gap between their mouths once again to leave a feather-light kiss, his eyes two slits filled with desire, then started to trace his sharp cheekbone with his lips. 

Geralt let out a growling grunt before hiding his face into the bard's curls, brushing his neck with the tip of his nose, a touch that shot sparks right to Dandelion's belly. 

The soft brushing of skin against skin turned into biting on flesh as soon as one of the bard's legs sneaked between Geralt's thighs, his body moving on its own volition. 

The witcher pinned him tight against the wall, his strong hands latching on his lithe waist while his mouth was now busy marking his collarbone with nips and kisses, his breath a warm balm for his bruised skin. 

The sudden movement allowed the bard a small relief to his straining length because he just had to buckle his hips forward a bit to grind against Geralt's thick dick, that friction a perfect remedy for his pending ache. 

Geralt grasped at his hips so hard that there would have been red stripes left by his passage, but the bard couldn't feel anything other than the growing release that was building up in his stomach. 

It was inebriating. 

Suddenly, the witcher latched on a soft spot of his neck, starting to suck like his life depended on it, and he could feel blood quickly rushing on the surface. 

A turmoil of sensations rippled in the poet’s chest as he moved faster against the other man, his breath quickening under the pace he took on. 

"G-Geralt!" his voice broke into a wanton moan, his eyelashes flickering as he looked up to the ceiling, his back arching like a bow, his head falling backwards. 

The witcher's response was a trail of languid bites on the exposed skin of his throat, while his left hand ran up to pinch one of his nipples, before rubbing the har, pink nubble between his digits. 

That contact elicited a loud groan from Dandelion whose rhythm faltered a bit as he closed his eyes, completely lost in the moment. 

The hand that once was busy with teasing Dandelion's nipple now skated down to his abdomen as Geralt angled his hips enough to align his bulging member better against the bard's. 

Then, he wrapped that same hand around both of them, a relieved sigh slipped through his lips as soon as he started moving it up and down their lengths. 

"Julian-" he murmured against his jaw before kissing his way to his earlobe just to suck it in his mouth. 

The bard was panting, his hands carding through that white cascade as his leg tangled with Geralt's right one. 

His birth name sounded like a sweet blasphemy on the witcher’s lips and he wanted to hear it again and again.

Despite the roughness of his movements, Geralt seemed to take his precious time with his hand, alternating speed with slowness, spreading the pre-come that gathered at the tip of Dandelion’s cock with his thumb, giving a good squeeze every now and then just to make the bard howl deliciously. 

Dandelion wouldn’t have lasted long under that maddening, pleasing torture, not if Geralt continued to suck and bite lovemarks on his neck the way he was doing, the sucking noise like a symphony to his ringing ears.

When the bard thought that was the most heated that exchange could have been, the witcher lifted his free leg and bent it against the wall as his hand let go of its previous task just to slide further down, before reaching for his balls and playing with them, rubbing between his sticky fingers.

Dandelion almost choked on his tongue, then the lowest moan scraped his throat. 

“Fuck, Geralt!” he exclaimed when he could formulate words again, then grasped fiercely at his shoulder to lower him down enough to kiss him hard on his lips, the encounter more teeth than tongues.

The witcher replied with a sharp thrust against his cock and his standing leg wobbled dangerously, threatening to give out. 

Once he was satisfied with the whimpers his actions tore from Dandelion, he spread his leg more, groping his thigh that trembled that show of force, then his hitching fingers left his crotch.

As soon as the bard felt warm, curious digits brush against his hole, he bit on Geralt’s lower lip, his skin feverish and his heart jumping down in at the bottom of his stomach. 

“T-take me.” he found himself pleading for more, his lips quivered against the witcher’s, whose only response was a guttural sound.

Then, the tentative approach became more insistent, one, two fingers tracing the tight circle, teasing it for a bit, before the index carefully tried to slip between warm muscles.

Dandelion had a full body shiver, so strong the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and an awful, chilly feeling slithered on his skin. Unfortunately, he quickly recognized it wasn't for the closeness with the witcher or his impending climax. 

Geralt must have noticed it, too, because he stopped his ministrations immediately, even if his eyes screamed his reluctance. 

"We- we should get out." he pointed out between ragged breaths against his wet lips, baritone voice echoing a bit around the small cavern. 

Dandelion must have lost the track of time, but he could tell it had been a while since they got into the water because he was starting to feel cold all of the sudden. He couldn't catch a fever now, that would have slowed them down and he didn't want to be a bigger burden to his friend than he already was. 

Also, it was getting late and they wouldn't have been able to get to the next city for the night if they had spent any more time in that forest. 

It was the right thing to do even if his throbbing and unsatisfied cock very much disagreed with him and Geralt's decision. 

They reluctantly stepped back from each other, Dandelion clearing his throat a little bit louder than he intended to. 

As he remembered just then what they had previously meant to do in that place, he huffed a frustrated sigh and moved close to the waterfall, Geralt following him suit. They rinsed their hair and cleaned themselves in the flowing water, then exited from the pool.

Nobody talked afterwards, Dandelion busying himself with picking his clothes all scattered on the ground and redressing while the witcher was washing his shirt in the river with the same soap from earlier that he managed to find somehow. 

The air was tense, Dandelion could sense that, even though Geralt didn’t seem to care, no emotions shown through his features. His eyebrows met in a slight frown as he fought with a particularly persistent stain on his shirt. 

Eventually, the bard stepped closer to his friend and, since his brain was still kind of clouded due to what they just shared in the cavern, the best he could muster was “So, you think there are some fish to catch here?”.

Realizing too late the double meaning his words hid, he slapped his forehead.

Geralt's back straightened up, then a giggle shook his shoulders. 

The bard pressed his lips tight together to stop a goofy smile to spread across his face, staring at the witcher who ever so slowly turned and levelled him with a knowing look.

“I had a big one between my hands, but it slipped away.”.

Dandelion snorted unashamedly, rolling his eyes at the blue sky.

If only he had known what would have happened next.

Without a warning, the witcher rolled his soaked shirt to use it as a whip and smacked loudly one of Dandelion’s buttcheeks.

Before the bard could yell his surprise, Geralt laughed heartily, his yellow eyes sparking with a malicious glint. 

“I hope to eat some...fish soon.” he said and to Dandelion’s ears it sounded much like a promise. Then, he walked past him, headed to their camp, but only after having ruffled his friend’s pretty curls.

The realization of what those words suggested washed over Dandelion just when Geralt left.

His cheeks burnt and the smile he stopped earlier now fully bloomed on his lips.

He couldn’t wait to reach the next village, now.

He took a deep breath, shook vehemently his head and then turned to follow Geralt in the forest.

Within half an hour, the two companions were back on the main road, Geralt riding Roach and Dandelion behind him with his arms wrapped around his middle.

There was silence between them once again, but not an awkward one. It was comfortable, despite the pain Dandelion felt on his lower back, especially now he was on a horse.

He curled up against Geralt better, laying his head on his shoulder, and looked around them, letting himself being cuddled by the waving movement of Roach’s stride. He looked at the tall trees, at the harvest ready to be collected, at a flock of migratory birds flying freely above their heads, at the sun that highlighted the silver strands of the witcher’s hair.

The same witcher who was whistling a random ditty while watching the dirt road cautiously.

That day, the poet had discovered two things: one, that a wet shirt hurt like hell if slapped on your ass, and two, that he was falling in love with his best friend. And the sentiment was probably mutual, or at least that’s what he hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated.  
Find me as [theoldgaylion](http://theoldgaylion.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


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